


Santa is a Yankee

by shesasurvivor (starkist)



Series: A House United [3]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Civil War, Christmas, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 10:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkist/pseuds/shesasurvivor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss and her family are celebrating the first Christmas since the end of the Civil War. Things aren’t what they used to be, but mysterious gifts show up under their tree. Does it have something to do with Union Soldier, Peeta Mellark? American Civil War/Reconstruction AU. Set during Blue on Grey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Santa is a Yankee

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, everybody! I wanted to write this, as a gift for all of those who have enjoyed and encouraged Blue on Grey/A House United this year. It's really meant a lot to me to be able to share this story with you all. Thank you so much, and happy holidays!

I’m just emerging from the woods, trudging through the mud of the dampened earth when I notice how low in the sky the sun has fallen. Of course, it’s Christmas Eve, and the shortest day of the year was a short three days ago.  
  
I had known the day would grow dark so soon, which is why I had taken it into account when I decided to set out into the woods early. I wanted to try to find something special for Christmas supper tomorrow if I could. The day will already be disappointing enough, what with how poor we are after the war. Not to mention who won’t be there tomorrow...  
  
My luck in the woods was somewhat successful: a couple of squirrels, a rabbit, some grouse. I was hoping I might be lucky enough to find a wild turkey, but the odds were not in my favor. It doesn’t matter, though; I snagged enough, and Mama should be happy. If only I could tell her I was the one who was able to find them; but she’d only be angry with me for acting so unladylike.  
  
That’s why I have to meet up with Peeta Mellark after every trip into the woods I take. He’s a Union soldier, but out of everyone, he’s the only one I’ve been able to trust with my secret. I really have no idea why he keeps it for me, but I’m grateful all the same. Except now he’s nowhere in sight, which makes me nervous because that increases the likelihood that I’ll be caught.  
  
After a few more minutes of waiting, I’m starting to wonder how I’ll cover on my own when I see him emerge from one of the abandoned slave quarters across the way. I raise an eyebrow at this - I can’t imagine what business he could possibly have in there. I can’t think of anything, but who knows? It’s really hard to figure him out sometimes, this perplexing boy who helps the family he’s stationed with on the opposing side of the war he fought in.  
  
He hurries across the fields to meet me. “Sorry I kept you waiting,” he mutters when he reaches me. I just look him over curiously.  
  
“What were you doing in there?” I ask.  
  
I can’t read the expression he wears as he shrugs. “I just had time to kill while I waited. I’ve never seen slave quarters in tact before, and I was curious. We only saw them when burning down plantations.” I can see him cringe at this last part. I frown at him, and look away. But Peeta gently begins taking the game away from me, throwing it over his broad shoulders as we turn to walk back together.  
  
“Are you ready for Christmas tomorrow?” he asks me after a long moment of silence. I shake my head.  
  
“There’s not much to get ready,” I say.  
  
Peeta nods thoughtfully, but remains silent. I’m glad. I don’t need him reminding me of everything we’ve lost thanks in large part to his army.  
  
As soon as we get the game home without raising much suspicion, I set to work cleaning and preparing it for the meal tomorrow. It’s nothing compared to the feasts we used to have before the war, but it’s going to be a better one than most in our neighborhood will be having for Christmas. I’m up late, finishing that and all the other chores that need to be done for tomorrow. I’m on my way to bed, when I glance out the window and happen to see Peeta sneaking back down to the slave quarters. I watch him for a minute as he disappears inside. But when he doesn’t emerge right away, I decide to go to bed anyway. I’ll investigate later.  
  
  
  
  
I mean to rise early to check the slave quarters and catch Peeta in whatever it is I’m trying to do, but when I stop into the kitchen to start the fire before setting out, he’s already awake. He glances over his shoulder at the sound of me, and gives me a smile. “Merry Christmas,” he tells me.  
  
“Merry Christmas,” I mutter back, perplexed at the sight of him. What is he doing up so early? As if reading my thoughts, he turns towards me, a mixture bowl in hand that he gestures out at me. “I just wanted to contribute something,” he says.  
  
I don’t answer except to nod, then turn and head back into the house. Mama and Prim have already wakened, and are both sitting around the small tree we were able to set up in the parlor. It isn’t anything compared to what we used to have, but it’s still enough. I join them.  
  
“Merry Christmas!” Prim cries, and jumps up to give me a hug. Mama follows, wishing me the same.  
  
“Shall we open presents?” Mama asks, and Prim eagerly agrees. I do, too, though not with anywhere near as much enthusiasm.  
  
There isn’t much, thanks to the awful time we had of things over the year. It’s nothing compared to what we had in the days before the war, when the underneath of the tree was piled so high with presents you couldn’t see through to the other side without causing a few to drop down on top of you. But for what it is, we remain as grateful as we can. Mama gives Prim and me a new pair of gloves, that I can’t help thinking it must have taken forever for her to save up for. I feel bad thinking of how little I’ll be able to use them, but I still thank her profusely. I have to try to hold on to whatever remains of my being a lady as much as I can.  
  
Prim opens another package addressed to her. When she does, her eyes grow big. “What is it?” I ask. In answer, she holds up a jar of preserves. Confused I look to Mama.  
  
“How were you able to afford both the gloves and the preserves?” I ask her.  
  
She shakes her head, looking every bit as bewildered as I feel. “I didn’t give those,” she says. “It’s not from me. Is it from you, Katniss?”  
  
“Of course not,” I say, because why would I even be asking if I had been the one to give them to her? But if she didn’t give them, and I didn’t give them... then who did?  
  
We tear through the rest of the package, and we find more of the same kind of thing: some more preserves, some jams; salted meats. None of the gifts are marked, and there are no other visible signs of who possibly could have given them.  
  
“Must be Santa,” Prim murmurs. “Maybe he’s not such a Yankee, after all.”  
  
It isn’t Santa, of course. But I would like to know whoever it was. Because the gifts are a little unnerving, I have to admit.  
  
It being Christmas, we’re all to have proper baths in the tub, rather than the sponge baths we normally give ourselves daily. This is the first time we’ve really done this since the help cleared out of here earlier this year when the war ended. Normally, they would set the tub up in our rooms, and help us bathe and dress. Now that we’re on our own, however, the bathing is to be done in the kitchen.  
  
Fortunately, at least, Peeta has agreed to help with the heavy lifting, which means we’re able to warm the water over the fire first. I’m standing in the room when he lifts it off where it hangs in the fireplace, and moves it over to a clear spot in the room, his strong arms straining under the load. He glances up at me as he settles it into its spot.  
  
“Should be ready for you now, Miss Everdeen,” he says with a brief glance up at me.  
  
“Thank you,” I say.  
  
He nods. “Welcome,” he says with another glance; his eyes linger for a moment as he moves them up and down my body. I shift a little, feeling a little uncomfortable. But Peeta flits his eyes away suddenly, and without another word, leaves the room quickly. For some reason, he seemed to be trying to angle his body away from me.  
  
I shake my head, deciding it’s nothing, and disrobe; settle into the water. As I begin to wash myself, I can’t help thinking how odd this whole experience is. Instead of the privacy of my own room, I’m in the kitchen, where really, anybody could walk in on me. What if Peeta walked in on me? I’m completely bare and vulnerable like this. I’d be at his mercy if he decided he wanted to have his way with me.  
  
That’s ridiculous, I think. He would never do that do you. Then I catch myself, and remind myself that Peeta Mellark is not my friend. I shouldn’t be so quick to trust him. And I especially shouldn’t be thinking about him like this while in this state.  
  
When I’m finished, Prim helps dress me before she gets in for her turn in the tub. I wait in the kitchen while she washes, and we chit chat a little, trying to figure out the secret of the mysterious gifts.  
  
“Maybe it was Peeta,” she says.  
  
“Don’t be silly, little duck,” I chide. “Why would Peeta give us those gifts?”  
  
“You know why,” she says, a knowing smile playing on her lips. I sigh, not wanting to feed into Prim’s ridiculous theories that have no basis in reality anyways. “Hurry up and finish,” is all I tell her. “Mama needs our help.”  
  
We’re dressed in time to help Mama welcome our guests: Gale, my fiance, and the rest of his family; Finnick and a very expectant Annie Odair; Greasy Sae and her granddaughter. Since we’re all struggling to get by, we agreed that it might help things if we all celebrated together, pooling our resources and sharing, rather than getting by on our own.  
  
The house becomes loud with so many guests. I’m bustling about everywhere, trying to help Mama provide for our guests; Prim helps, too. The women and the men gather together in a room, making polite conversation. The primary subject of conversation seems to be the passing of the 13 Amendment, ratified earlier this month. Word has it that the Confederate states must accept it before being allowed back in the Union. The men all prattle on and on about how they’ll refuse to accept such an abomination, and they’ll hold out as long as possible, though some point out that it’s probably too late from what they’ve heard. All this talk frustrates me, though, so I excuse myself from the room, saying that I need some air.  
  
Wanting to savor the peace of the Christmas tree, I decide to head for the parlor. But I’m pulled up short to find it’s already occupied - Peeta, a book in hard, is already sitting quietly in there. He looks up at me as soon as I come in and smiles.  
  
“Sorry,” I say, “I didn’t know you were in here already.”  
  
“It’s all right,” he says. “I’m not doing anything important anyway.”  
  
I frown at this. “Why aren’t you in the room with the others?” I ask, though I realize as I’m saying it why he isn’t.  
  
He lets out a sigh. “I don’t think I’m exactly welcome in there.”  
  
“Probably not,” I admit, and he laughs a little. “What?” I ask, feeling defensive for some reason.  
  
Peeta shrugs. “Nothing. I just appreciated your honesty, is all,” he smiles at me. “Are you having a nice Christmas?”  
  
“It’s fine, yes,” I say. “It’s nothing compared to what it used to be, though, and...” I stop.  
  
“And what?” he frowns at me, looking genuinely concerned. It’s not really any of his business, but for some reason, I find myself wanting to tell him anyway.  
  
“Just... I miss my father,” I explain.  
  
He nods thoughtfully. “I know. I miss my family as well.”  
  
Suddenly I feel awful. Of course, even with as little as we have, and even though I lost my father, a sacrifice to the Glorious Cause, at least I still have my family and friends nearby on Christmas. Peeta is alone in a strange land.  
  
I ask the first thing I can think of. “Are you coming to supper tonight?” It seems like such a silly thing, but Peeta just smiles.  
  
“I was hoping that would be all right. I do need to eat still. But I can get my own food, if I’m not invited.”  
  
I shrug. “Sure. I mean, come. It’s all right.”  
  
His grin widens, and he studies me for a minute. “Did you get any good gifts this year?”  
  
“A few things,” I admit, and I’m starting to tell him the story of the mysterious gifts when Prim’s suggestion comes back to me. Maybe it was Peeta. I brushed it off at the time, but now I’m wondering if she was onto something.  
  
“Peeta...” I say, stopping in the middle of the explanation. He smiles playfully at me, a knowing expression on his face. But instead of answering, his eyes look somewhere above my head.  
  
“You’re standing under the mistletoe, Miss Everdeen. I’m supposed to be kissing you.”  
  
I glance up, and sure enough, hanging above me is a clump of the plant. Prim must have put it there. But I can’t kiss Peeta. I wrinkle my forehead. What does that have to do anything, anyway? It occurs to me that he’s trying to dodge the question, so I just blurt it out.  
  
“Was it you?” I ask. “Was that why you were in the slave quarters yesterday?” He chuckles, but doesn’t say anything. “Take me there,” I say.  
  
He looks surprised for a minute. Then he nods. “All right,” he agrees. That was easy, I think. Maybe a little too easy. I wonder what he has up his sleeve.  
  
We quietly slip passed the crowd in the other room and out the door, and both of us head across the fields to the abandoned slave quarters together. They’re dark and drafty, and a little bit creepy now that they’re no longer used - I never came down here much in the first place, but I haven’t been at all since the slaves cleared out of here.  It strikes me what an awful place to sleep in this must have been, especially compared to the warm comforts of the big house.  
  
“How can you stand it in here?” I murmur; I’d rather get out of there quickly. Peeta gives me a solemn look; he doesn’t need to say anything for me to know he understands. We stand in silence for a long while before he finally breaks it.  
  
“It was me. You were right.”  
  
I look at him curiously.  
  
“The gifts, I mean,” he continues. “I gave them.”  
  
“How?” Of all the things I could ask, this is what I think to ask first? I kick myself mentally.  
  
“With money I had saved,” he says. “I was able to go into town and buy some things. And since I don’t have my own family, and you’ve been so kind to me even though you’ve been stuck with me... I thought I would try to repay you for your kindness.”  
  
“You didn’t need to do that,” I whisper.  
  
“I know,” I he says. “But it’s Christmas. And... well, I like you.”  
  
“Me?” I raise an eyebrow.  
  
Peeta nods. “Well, all of you. But... yes, you.” His face is flush. “In fact... “ he trails off, looking like he’s thinking something over; deliberating it in his mind. “In fact, I have something for you,” he says at last. Now I’m really confused, and I watch as Peeta wrestles something else out of the darkness. Then Peeta hands over a package, looking a little embarrassed for some reason. “Here,” he tells me, “this is for you.”  
  
I take it from him, looking at him in complete shock. My mouth falls open and tries to form a sentence, but nothing come out at first. He smiles gently in return. “Open it,” he tells me. I stare at him a minute longer before I tear my eyes away from him, and turn them down to the package that is now in my hands.  
  
Carefully at first, then moving quicker as I grow more impatient, I rip the paper off. My eyes grow wide in shock when I see what’s inside, and I look back up to Peeta who’s grinning at me.  
  
“Wha- why? What’s this for?” I sputter.  
  
Peeta’s eyebrows raise at the question. “Don’t you know?” I shake my head, because I really don’t. He looks at me for a long while, as though debating in his mind what he wants to tell me. He opens his mouth, and then he just shrugs. “It’s important to you,” is all he says in the end.  
  
I look back down at the beautifully crafted bow, its string drawn taught from one end to the other, its size just right to fit me. It’s beautiful; certainly the best gift I’ve received in recent years. Maybe even the best gift I’ve ever received.  
  
My eyes turn back to Peeta. “Thank you,” I finally get out. He smiles warmly back at me, looking more pleased than I think I’ve ever seen him. “You’re welcome,” he tells me. “It seemed like it was a good fit for you.”  
  
A good fit? It’s perfect. If it weren’t Christmas, I’d take it out into the woods right now and start practicing on it. As it is, shooting in the woods should become a whole lot nicer. I take Peeta in with a new sense of appreciation.  
  
Maybe Peeta Mellark is a friend after all.  
  
Shame washes over me, both for how short I’ve been with him even after all he’s done for me, and because I don’t have anything for him in return. “But I have nothing for you,” I mutter and drop my eyes to the ground. “Take it back,” I say as I push the bow back into his hands.  
  
“It’s a gift,” he insists, refusing to take it. “You don’t need to give me anything if you don’t want to.”  
  
“But I do,” I say, then check myself. “Or at least I want to give you something.” And I do. I can’t live with this, and the help with the hunting, and the bread, and everything else hanging over my head. There has to be something I can do for him, and I tell him so.  
  
“Well,” he says, smiling playfully, “how about that kiss?”  
  
Of course. It’s not much, but it has to be a start. I’ll find some other way to repay him later, but for now, if he wants a kiss, I’ll give it to him. I nod my head. “All right,” I say to him.  
  
He looks surprised. “Really? I- I mean, I was just joking. You don’t need to do anything for me, really.”  
  
“It’s fine,” I say. It’s just one kiss, really, and he did catch me under the mistletoe. He was supposed to do it anyway. And I’m already engaged to Gale. I don’t see what difference one kiss would make.  
  
Peeta looks both surprised and uncomfortable, and he shifts on weight nervously. His eyes flicker around the room, but when he sees my expectant expression, he takes a deep breath and then a smile breaks out across his face. He leans in and presses his lips against mine, lightly at first. Then he presses firmer as he takes my lower lip between his.  
  
I feel something stir inside of me. Warm and curious. Gale has kissed me a dozen times, always a peck on the lips or a chaste kiss on my cheek. But never has it felt like this. Peeta’s lips are warm and soft against my own, and warmth unexpectedly begins to slow spread out across my body. My heart begins pounding in my chest, and I find myself wanting another. It’s just as I’m bringing my arm up to grasp onto his that I catch myself and jerk my head back.  
  
“I need to get back,” I mumble, and as I turn to leave, I see him nod out of the corner of my eye. I rush out of there in such a hurry, that I don’t realize until I’m halfway back to the house that I left the bow he gave me back there. I’m tempted to go back for it, but everything inside of me is screaming what a bad idea that is. So I press on.  
  
Inside, everyone is just beginning to settle down for Christmas dinner. Fortunately, no one seems to have noticed that I went missing. I take my seat at the table, next to Gale. Where I belong. I try to smile at him; act as though nothing has happened. But it’s hard to look him or anyone else in the eye.  
  
I try to calm myself down, to tell myself that it was just a kiss I owed him from when he caught me under the mistletoe. But when he walks in a short while later, my heart immediately starts pounding again. I try not to look at him either, afraid that if I do, everyone at the table will know that we kissed. Which I don’t want them to know, for some reason, no matter how innocent it may have been.  
  
The conversation quiets noticeably upon Peeta’s arrival, the presence of a Union soldier at the table of an honorable Confederate family too much for anyone to stomach. I’m surprised to realize how outraged I am on his behalf; Peeta, who is far away from his own home and family, who, despite his allegiances, has never been anything but kind to the family who is forced to have him living with them. I stop myself before I blurt something out on his behalf, and remind myself to watch myself. No good can come of allowing Peeta Mellark too much room in my heart.  
  
My eyes flit over to him more often than I care for them to throughout the meal, but every time he’s only looking down at his plate, not bothering to join in on the conversation; not looking at me. I frown, but remind myself that it doesn’t matter. I busy myself, joining the discussion on my own, trying to play the perfect hostess; being the fiancee to Gale I know I should be. Only once more do I catch myself glancing in his direction, and this time my stomach lurches when I look straight into his blue eyes. I force them away from him immediately.  
  
Fortunately, all the activity when the meal ends forces me away from any chance for more interaction with him. I do the best I can to push him out of my mind as much as possible while I attend to everything else. It works, too, because by the time the evening is winding home, and we’re bidding the others goodbye, I’m starting to feel like my old self again. At least until Gale kisses me goodnight on the lips, and I’m forced to remember the one Peeta gave me earlier. It’s no use trying to compare the two.  
  
When at last I climb the stairs to my room, exhausted, I’m surprised to find the bow laying on my bed. Peeta must have brought in here in the time between when I left him, and when he joined us for the meal. I feel like I should be more disturbed by the thought of him entering my private quarters, but truthfully, it doesn’t bother me at all. And I’m glad I don’t have to go back out to the slave quarters now to retrieve it myself.  
  
I change into my nightgown, and settle in underneath the covers. I can’t think of Peeta any longer. I can’t do it. No matter how kind he’s been, or thoughtful his gift to me was. Because then I start thinking of our kiss again, and even though it was innocent, I know it was innocent and that it meant nothing, I can’t help the places my mind wanders to. How it would have felt to hold him like I started to; for him to hold me in return. What would have happened if I had opened my mouth just a little bit, or if his lips...  
  
I need to stop this.  
  
Peeta Mellark may be a friend after all, but he’s nothing else. Can be nothing else. It’s no use to even think about it, so why bother? I’m going to have a hard enough time explaining to the folk around here why I don’t hate him even though he’s been forced onto my family as an extra mouth to feed, and a dirty Yankee one at that. I don’t need to complicate things any further.  
  
I remind myself this several times, but as I’m drifting off into sleep, but I’m vaguely aware of a delicious feeling of happiness that is somehow connected to Peeta.  
 **  
**

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading this, and aren't familiar with the universe it's set it, please check out Blue on Grey - listed on my profile. This piece is set during that.


End file.
